Raise Hell: 19 The Sun
Pairing: Driver/Robber (Gabe/Eli)
Rating: NC17 (as always)
Wordcount: 10,214 (it's a big'un)
Summary: Gabe leaves, Eli pines, the sun rises, Eli continues to write, he gets strange letters in the post, hangs out more with Kat and Jen. (Listen, there's a lot of stuff that happens here--it's over 10k words long, yo.
“I sit before flowers
hoping they will train me in the art
of opening up
I stand on mountain tops believing
that avalanches will teach me to let go
I know
nothing
but I am here to learn.”
--Shane Koyczan
And I was learning. I learned to listen not just to the words he said, or even the way in which he said them, but also the spaces between the words. I began to notice the ways in which his hands would twitch, or his feet would tap--the ways in which he would fidget. Which were signs of anxiety or stress. How he would hold his body when he needed space versus his posture when he needed to be held.
I, of course, didn’t master this during those last two days we had together. Hell, even now I still don’t always get it right. But by reviewing all I’d witness of him before--my intuition filtered through the intimate knowledge of his vulnerability--I knew enough by our last day to hear his devastation at having to leave me again even through his silence.
We woke before the sun. Whispered “good morning” into each other’s mouths. Held each other first like glass and then like steel--desperate and shaking like one grips a pistol. Like one last chance. Not a single word passed between us until the sun had been up an hour or so--long enough to begin to warm the room. I felt him pull away from me before his body ever moved.
The sweats he escaped in were crumpled in the corner of my bedroom--thrown there thoughtlessly on our first night here. I watched him pull them on. Then his socks. The pair of ratty old trainers from God knows where.
He leant over me, bent over the bed. “I love you,” he said. It was more than a statement. It was a promise. A plea.
“I love you, too.” A set of instructions. The gospel. I leaned up to kiss him one last time, pressed our foreheads together.
“You can stay at mine when you want. If you want.” He offered, refusing to pull back yet.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I reached up, tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Either way...I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Keep writing, yeah? S’beautiful.”
“I will.” I kissed him again. Twice. His mouth, the flat of his nose. “Now go on, before I try to keep you here.”
“I love you,” he said once more, straightening his spine, beginning to back away from me.
“I love you, too.”
I watched him walk out of the room, pausing at my bedroom door to turn around and pass a glance my way. And so my last glimpse of his face was obscured by a mask of trepidation and longing. I heard his footsteps retreat down the hall. My front door opening and closing. I didn’t know where exactly he was going--how he was going to go back miming tail between legs, play the misguided, troubled rich boy showing contrition, hoping for mercy.
I heard the front door open and then close, and he was gone.
I sighed heavily, rubbing my hands over my face. I stared at the ceiling for a long moment before rolling over onto my stomach, onto his side of the bed. Digging around on the floor next to the bedside table, I found my journal. A bit more digging found me a pen, and I leaned up against the headboard, lighting a cigarette before beginning to write.
14 June, 2013
I remember you, here, in this bed with me, after we came back from Stockton. I woke up to find you crying in your sleep. I remember--much later, when we were staying at your flat--as I watched you sleep, I wondered to myself what it was you dream about. What you long for. What scares you to tears in the night.
I still don’t know for certain, but I can make my guesses.
There are differences in our childhoods--things I can’t begin to try to imagine, that you have lived through. But I had a father who thought he was Moses and a mother who is a mystery perhaps even to herself.
So I know about uncertainty.
Most people remember as children, wondering what was going to be for supper.
I remember being a child and not knowing if there was going to be supper.
But I also remember being seven, in the back garden with my arms thrown out at my sides and the sun warming my cheeks, spinning and spinning and spinning, fast as I could in tight circles. This, after pumping my legs hard, back and forth, going higher and higher on the swing set. I thought if I tried hard enough, I could fly south like birds do. The wind could lift me and carry me off somewhere better. Or, barring that, I could perhaps spin myself so hard and so fast that my soul would somehow detach from my body so instead of being bound to the heavy limitations of my body, this world, my dad here on earth, I could experience the lightness of being a being of light, I could sit next to the Throne and feel the warmth of my Heavenly Father’s love.
But I would open my eyes and always find myself still in my back garden, vision swimming and bare feet dirty.
Uncertainty is a demon flicking its tongue against our guts like a lick of flame against glass--breaking us from the inside. It makes some of us grow trees for feet, our roots plunging into soil until inertia claims us fully. Our heads in the clouds, our feet too heavy to move from earth.
And some of us. Some of us flee from it, scattering like crows, like smoke.
Sighing, I stuck my pen between the pages of the journal, and let it fall to the mattress. The sun was bright, and I knew I had to start the day soon. I turned onto my side, pressed my face into my pillow, figuring a couple more hours of sleep couldn’t hurt.
*********
“You’ll never guess what Janice said about you the other day.” Jen smirked at me over her cup of chamomile tea.
“That I’m a low life shit and she hopes the baby somehow gets all of your genes?” I looked up from her feet in my lap, shooting her a playfully sarcastic look as I pushed my thumb up the arch of her foot.
“No. Not recently, anyway. She said you did a lovely job painting the nursery.” She informed me smartly, wiggling her toes.
“She’d forgotten I was the one who painted it, hadn’t she?”
“You caught me,” She sighed, resting her cup on her full stomach as she let her head fall back against the sofa arm. “You could have just taken the complement. You’re just allergic to happiness.”
“If that were true, I would have spent the last few months covered in hives.”
I felt her bristle slightly, lifting her eyes over the swell of her torso. After a heavy pause, she said quietly, “He really means a lot to you, eh?”
I met her gaze. There was a smirk smeared over her lips--half wry, half doleful.
“That’s not what I meant. Not entirely. I’m excited to meet this one,” I very gently poked her tummy, gaining a grin, “And...I know we’ll do a good job. You’ll do a great job. I’ll try my hardest not to fuck it up too badly--”, this earned me a light slap on the arm, “--I’m not scared, you know. I know that...I know you were probably terrified. To tell me. And I was a bit panicked myself. But making birthing plans with you, going to your appointments, getting the nursery ready...I’m excited Jenny. I am. I can’t wait to be a father, and I think you’ll be a wonderful mother. And I’m...I’m happy, is all.”
Jen gave me a watery smile, a small incredulous laugh, “God, Eli,” she sniffled a bit, “Don’t do that to me, you know I’m hormonal.” I gave her foot a gentle squeeze as I muttered a sheepish apology. Once she’d composed herself--it didn’t take long at all--she said softly, “I’m glad. You’re happy, that is. You seem...better, somehow. Not just happy, but...different. In a good way.”
“Thank you, Jenny.” We smiled softly at each other, not knowing what else was left to say. Jen’s eyes widened suddenly, motioning for me to give me her hand. “He’s kicking!”
She pressed my palm to the swell of her stomach, round and firm. I waited for a moment, the skin beneath her cotton top taut and warm. And then I felt it--finally. Each time he’d begun to kick or wriggle around, he stopped moving by the time I got my hand on her. But this time, he continued. I felt some part of him--a heel, an elbow, a knee--push against the heel of my hand, gliding across my palm.
My father had talked a lot about miracles, throughout my childhood. He’d bang on and on during his sermons, all the miraculous feats of Jesus, water into wine, loaves and fish. Healing lepers, resurrecting Lazarus. Tried to convince his small flock that he, a man of god, could heal them with a palm laid flat against their head.
But here, on Jan’s couch, my hand laid flat on Jen’s stomach, I was the recipient of a gift. Something indescribable. A life I helped to make, moving there in the woman I love, kicking out, raising hell. He was alive and so was I, here, now, in this space, at this time.
This all sounds so obvious, but understand: My childhood had been about death. Wanting to die. Our bodies are dirty, sinful. Our lives don’t truly begin to get good until we’re dead, in Heaven with our Father. I was never taught that now was important. The earth is Satan’s domain--don’t get too attached to anything here, don’t worry too much about now. Keep your head down and be a good boy so when you’re dead you can finally be happy.
But I was alive and I had a son, and Jen, and soon I’d have Gabe back. And I was happy. I could be happy here. Now. Fuck death and fuck god. I’m alive.
I cried. I cried and I cooed at Jen’s belly as she tried to convince me to stop--tired of crying at the drop of a hat herself.
When I got home that night, I sat at my kitchen table and wrote it all down for Gabe. It was 19 June.
*************
The next day, a card arrived in the post. A navy blue envelope, heavy stock. Obviously expensive. I turned it over in my hands--no return address. Curious, I opened it while waiting for my coffee to brew--the pricey shit I grew accustomed to while living with Gabe.
On cream coloured cardstock in black fountain pen was written a short missive:
Dear Elias,
Hello. I hope this message finds you well. My name is Elaine Shepard. I am writing you to update you on a subject close to both of our hearts.
We’ve just received news that Gabriel will be released on 3 November, 2013. He requested I share this good news with you the last time I spoke with him.
Warm regards,
E. Shepard.
I stared at the note, sipping my coffee and doing the maths in my head. Sitting at the kitchen table, I began to write to Gabe.
20 June
Your mother wrote to me.
137 days until I can see you again. 55 days until I get to meet my son.
To think that when we met, I had very little to live for. And now I’m actively looking forward to the future.
Your mother seems very cordial. Can’t wait to meet her at the wedding.
I, of course, wrote the last part with a smirk on my face.
*********
4 July, 2013
I am officially 31 years old.
I know you going off to rehab to save my skin should be enough of a gift, but I can’t wait to see how you make up for not being here.
I’m sure you have your own ideas. Kat took me out to get drunk. Well, she took me out for dinner. For my birthday. But I got drunk while there. I’m going to hate editing this page in the morning. Making it legible. But I got home tonight and did some research. I’m allowed to give you a wish list, I’m sure.
Have you ever heard of something called cock warming? Picture it: You sitting in your armchair, reading this journal, and me, on my knees between your legs, your cock in my mouth, keeping you warm. You can hold me still and fuck my mouth, let me lick you clean, and just stay there until you get hard again.
I did a lot of reading about that and I know we’ve got a no secrets policy now and I want it, which is why I’m telling you. Even though I know I’ll be embarrassed reading this back in the morning. But now I’m just drunk enough to tell you I did my research and then fucked myself exhausted after. I may’ve took that marital aid from your place on my walk home. I made myself come twice and took a break and came again.
122 days and I swear I might combust before you return to me. I don’t know which is worse--waiting for you without any idea when you’ll return, or waiting with an end date looming over me. I just want you here, in my arms, on the sofa next to me, annoying me, fucking me, loving me, guiding me. Forever.
I won’t propose again. I promise. Not here in this journal, anyway. Not with you so far away. Do you like The Cure? Of course you like The Cure. Look at you. I can’t believe I didn’t go through your record collection the first time you were gone. Stupid. You should make me a mixtape when you get back. Do people still do mixtapes? Probably not. What do the kids do these days?
Playlists. I just texted Kat to ask her. Playlists. That’s what they do.
Why are you so far away, she said,
Why won’t you ever know that I’m in love with you
That I’m in love with you?
Can that be our song? Do we have a song? You are strange as angels. Gabriel! I don’t know what my dad was so cross about--I’m dating an angel. A Shepard. My saviour. My martyr.
I miss you so much. Fuck, I’ll be hungover in the morning. I can’t wait to see you. Hold you. Hear you. I miss you. Love you. Forever. Always. Til death do us part, eventually.
********
5 July
Christ, I’m a knob.
********
“I can’t believe he’s in love with you!”
Her tone was jovial--there wasn’t a hint of malice in her tone, despite how harsh her words sounded. Still yet, hearing it did sting a bit.
I sat on the closed lid of Kat’s toilet, her deft fingers working some floral smelling product into my hair. She asked to use my head to test out some new products--are hair being so similar. The bathroom was small, crowded. The most disconcerting detail was the fact she and her friend--Rob--decided to paint it bright yellow since the last time I’d visited.
“Wow. Thanks.” I muttered sarcastically, wincing as she rolled a foam curler into the hair at the crown of my head.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Goose. It’s just,” she paused, turning at the waist to grab a bobby pin off the sink before carelessly using it to stab me in my scalp. “Gabe isn’t the most...I don’t know. He seemed to me like the type to be content staying single. Friends with benefits type, you know.”
“You jealous?” I smirked, incapable of not taking the mick.
“No!” She laughed, reaching for another foam roller, “He was fun, but just not what I needed from a partner.”
“And what’s that, exactly?”
“Someone boring like you.”
I pinched the bit of flesh at her hip, rolling over the top of her sleep shorts. She smacked my hand and tutted.
“That’s why you and Gabe work so well! He and I need boring boyfriends. Gabe and I are movers. Shakers,” she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone and grinned, “The type of people to convince a new lover to rob a bank.”
I pinched her again. “Your bathroom is ugly.”
“Shut your mouth! I’ll have you know I colour matched this paint to the exact shade of Nina Hagen’s hair!”
I made a face, wondering how she even knew of Nina Hagen, growing up in the house we did. Which triggered another thought.
“How did you and Gabe meet?”
She snorted a laugh through her nose, rolling the last free bit of my hair around a foam curler. “House party. Gimme a fag, please.”
“I’m sitting right here,” the joke left my mouth before I could analyze it, which earned me a slap. I dug the packet and lighter from my pocket and passed it to her, “How’d you get to a house party? Where was dad?”
“He takes Stilnoct now. Out like a light by nine,” she took a long pull off the cigarette, blew a plume of smoke out over my head, “My friend Allie was having a party. Her older cousins came over. Gabe’s friend with that lot. He was there, I asked him what his sign was--”, she glared at me when I made a derisive noise, “Oh shut up. We talked about a lot of stuff that night. Music, poetry, fashion. It was a lot of fun. You could learn a lot from him.”
“Oh, please,” I rolled my eyes.
“I’m serious! Ask him sometime about how the Versace Autumn-Winter line of ‘98 pulls inspiration from both Caravaggio and Petrus Christus.”
“Fucking Versace,” I spat, nicking the cigarette off her.
“Steven Meisel shot it,” she practically whined, “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m sure.”
“And my bathroom is, too.”
“Whatever, Nina.”
“We spun in circles, dancing to Punk Wedding. Like a two person mosh pit where no one touched,” she laughed, remembering the scene they caused, groping for something behind her on the countertop.
“Great, I’ll make sure to play that one at our wedding, ta.”
She dropped her hair dryer. “Wedding?!”
Shit.
“Yeah, er,” I rubbed awkwardly at the back of my neck, disturbing one of the rollers at my nape, “I asked him. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either.” I felt my face heat up.
Kat snatched the hair dryer off the floor and plugged it in. “As close to a ‘yes’ as I could ever see him giving,” she shrugged with one shoulder, a quick up and down motion. “Now be still, I gotta set these curls.”
**********
17 July
I have, what I can only describe as, an afro. It’s Kat’s fault. If you really want to know, ask me about it when you read this. But I really don’t wish to relive it right now.
Also, I am an idiot, but you already knew that. I’ve ordered take away, and I’ve borrowed your copy of Angstlos and will be listening to Zarah on repeat.
**********
24 July
Met Kat’s friend Allie today. Went to shake her hand and she read my palm.
Apparently you and I will have five children. She also said my wife will be beautiful and loyal, so no matter how you feel you’d look as a bird, I think it’s time to start investing in some pretty frocks.
102 days, my love, and we’ll go back to T.K. Maxx.
***********
“I’m so ready for this to be over with, “ Jen huffed, sitting on the sofa with much difficulty. I passed her her bowl of ice cream and sat slowly down next to her. “Thanks, Eli.”
“I’m sorry, Jenny. I’d carry him for you if I could.” I shot her a look I hoped read as contrite.
“Would you?” She raised a brow at me, scooping up a spoonful of rocky road.
“...I’d carry him for four and a half months for you. Split it down the middle, even steven.”
“Better than nothing, I’ll take it.” She chuckled, “I’m just ready to meet my son. And stop feeling like shit. Everything aches. My back is killing me--finally know how Jan must feel.” She held her hands out before her chest, mimicking massive breasts as well as she could with the bowl still in her hand.
“I don’t know, Jenny--I think you might catch up with her before too long,” I nodded to her own chest.
“Eli!” she gawped. I realized she hadn’t been with me throughout the whole of my journey thus far--was unaccustomed to me being so bold in matters pertaining to the human form.
“Sorry,” I could feel the tips of my ears heating up, “I er, I didn’t mean anything by it. Sorry.”
“You’ve changed, Eli,” she smirked at me, shifting slightly in her seat with a wince she tried poorly to hide.
“I’ll get the hemorrhoid doughnut then,” I got up to retrieve it, and she threw a decorative pillow at my back.
*************
It happened on 28 July--19 days before we expected it.
I woke to my mobile chiming happily on the nightstand. Groggily, I rolled over and plucked it up, answering it with bleary eyes and a confused, “Uh?”
“Eli, get over here NOW. Jen’s in labour.” Jan’s voice assaulted me, making me jolt upright.
“Right! Right! I’m on my way. Has the midwife been called? Did you call the midwife? What about the doula? No, we decided against the doula. Is the midwife on her way? What was her name, Bella? Belinda? I know it wasn’t Bertha--”
“YES. She’s been called. Get here NOW.” The line went dead in my ear. I would have been annoyed, had I not already been up and struggling to pull my jeans up my legs. I searched for my mobile for a few minutes before realizing I was still holding it, and phoned a taxi.
I silently cursed Gabe for not being there. For not being there to drive me to Jan’s. For not being there to keep me calm, to remind me I could do this. I tried to imagine what comforting words he’d say to me if he were there and could hear his voice in my head saying, “I wasn’t there to help you make the baby, Eli, you don’t need me there to help deliver it.”
It was enough to keep me going. To keep my feet moving towards the curb, lighting a cigarette while I waited for the taxi.
The ride was a blur. The radio blared the whole time, and I can only remember snatches of conversation with the young man driving me.
I gave him the address and told him to hurry. He made some joke about not being a getaway driver.
“My ex is having a baby!” I all but shouted at him.
I watched his brows shoot to his hairline in the rear view, “Congrats, bruv!” He peeled out, took the turn at the end of the street a bit too hard.
“Hey! I’d like to actually meet my son tonight, thank you. Maybe slow down a bit,” I braced myself against the backseat.
“Right, right, sorry bruv. Don’t wanna fuck up yer chance to get back with yer girl, too, huh?” He gave me a too familiar grin.
“Don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate that too much, bruv,” I shot back.
That kept the small talk down to a minimum, thank Christ.
When we finally pulled up, Jan was already rushing out the front door, her hair in disarray--half of the curlers she went to bed in dangling limply from the ends of her hair, bouncing against the dressing gown wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
“ELI! What the hell took you so long?!”
I pressed a fat wad of bills into the young man’s hand and slid out of the taxi. “I got here as soon as I could, Janet. Why aren’t you in there with her, hmm? Is the midwife here?”
“She got here ten minutes ago, which is more than I can say for you,” Jan sniffed haughtily, literally looking down on me from her front stoop.
“What the fuck did you want me to do, Janet?” I hissed through my teeth, stomping up the steps to look her in the eyes, “I don’t have a car. I ordered a taxi. I got here as fast as I could. Did you want me to run? Go, go, Gadget turbo legs?”
“Don’t be such a smart arse, Eli--”
“Shut up, Janet!” I took two strides towards her, well within her personal space, “You don’t like me. I get it, that’s fine. You don’t need to. But I will not allow you to make a scene right now. I refuse to hit a woman, but I am not above sicing my sister on you. Move.”
She glared at me for a moment before stepping aside.
As it turns out, the midwife’s name was Bex, short for Rebecca. An old hippie type with a silver hoop in her nose. She talked in hushed tones and was the most serene person I’ve ever met.
“You must be the father,” she stepped forward, arm extended. Her palm was dry and warm when I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, ta,” I followed her to the bedroom, “How’s she doing?”
“It will be a while still--she’s at three centimeters, currently. Contractions are still pretty far apart. She’s been asking for you since I got here. New mother nerves, I think she’s afraid you’ll miss it.” She smiled sweetly at me, opening the door and ushering me through.
Jen was laid on the bed, one of her numerous parenting books propped up on her belly. Her hair was only mostly in the bun she went to bed in, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.
“Are you sure you’re in labour?” I teased.
“It’s not so bad between contractions. Bex says it’ll get worse before too long, though. Looking forward to that.” she rolled her eyes, throwing her book to the side. She took her glasses off, folded them neatly and passed them to me, “Can you put these on the nightstand for me? I can’t swivel too well right now.”
I took them off her and placed them gingerly on the table beside her. Stuffed my hands in my pockets. Now that I was there, I hadn’t any idea what to do. I knew when it was time for the baby to come, my job was to hold Jen’s hand, help her breathe, encourage her. But until then, I was totally lost.
She patted the mattress beside her, inviting me up. I slid onto the bed next to her, allowed her to rest her head on my shoulder. “You know,” she said softly, “I was so ready for this the other day. You remember? And now I’m absolutely shitting myself.”
I laughed, wrapping my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to me. “Perhaps literally before the night is over.”
She slapped my chest, snuggled further into it, “You have to promise me, if that happens, you’ll put me out of my misery. I know it’ll be hard for you to raise him alone, but I’m sure you and Gabe will do a splendid job.”
“Oh, hush now. If it happens, Bex and I will swear an oath to never tell. I’ll deck Jan to make sure she doesn’t know. If she smells it, we’ll tell her the baby shat.”
Jen laughed heartily, wriggled a bit to get more comfortable. “I might kip on you, if that’s alright.”
“Please, it’ll give me something to do. I’m feeling a bit useless here.”
“Shhh, sleep time please.”
“Alright.”
*********
The night dragged on.
At one point, I texted Kat to let her know it was happening. She demanded I look at the clock to tell her his exact birth time--evidently drafting an accurate birth chart for her nephew was of the utmost importance to her.
I kept her updated via text, every centimeter, every contraction. Jen slept off and on, woken only by contractions or Jan, fluttering into the room anxiously, trying to stuff more pillows under her neck. She left when one of her visits coincided with Jen’s pain--Jen yelling at her to get her “overly aerobicized arse out of the room”, tail tucked between her legs.
Difficult to hold a smirk back during that scene.
Finally--finally--it was time. Bex instructed me to help Jen squat, the position and gravity helping with the delivery. I wrapped an arm around Jen, between her stomach and her breasts, my other hand clasping her’s tightly.
Her temple pressed into my cheek, her sweat slicking my skin, my stubble no doubt irritating her’s. I felt the bones in my fingers click, grinding together as she squeezed my hand tightly, her teeth gritted, face red.
My thighs burned as I squatted behind her. Over Jen’s shoulder, Bex smiled at me. “Give me your hand, Eli.”
Wide eyed and curious, I allowed her to guide my hand down between Jen’s legs, feeling the top of my son’s head breaching.
“Siri!” I screeched wildly, half out of my mind, “Text Kat. ‘Top of his head is out. Does that count?’ Send!”
Bex chuckled. Jen groaned. “We’ll need another push, Mummy. One good push and his head will be out.”
Jen panted in my ear, whining. “Come on, Jenny. In and out,” I demonstrated the breathing technique until she began to do it with me, “There you go, you’re doing great.”
Jen pushed hard, a groan turning to a near yell, and at the end of it, a sound of vague relief. Her breathing was laboured, her body broken out in a film of sweat, I felt her shudder in pain.
“I can’t,” she said weakly, “I can’t do it, Eli. I don’t...I’m too tired I can’t do it.”
“Remember your birth mantra,” I whispered soothingly, “‘My body was made to do this’.”
“It wasn’t. It can’t. I don’t have anything left in me.”
“You have most of a baby left in you, Jenny. What, two more pushes, Bex?”
Bex nodded, “Just two more. Possibly one. You can do it, Jen. You’ve got this.”
Jen sobbed, pushed her face deeper into the crook of my neck. I felt her try to regain control over her breathing, to do the exercises we’d learn together, before muttering, “Sod it,” and bearing down hard, pushing with all her might.
She screamed, my ear ringing with it. Her body shook and I thought in a wild moment of wonder and panic, maybe her body wasn’t made for this. She felt like she may explode at a moment’s notice. Her scream paused, silent, and a primal noise tore from her throat, her eyes scrunched tightly closed beneath her sweaty fringe. Finally, that relieved noise punched its way out of her, her eyes opened, glassy, fixed on nothing in particular.
I had never been more in awe of her than I was in that moment. If I were single, I would have proposed to her in that instant. I would have erected a church dedicated to her, her strength, her beauty. A fact I would later not bother omitting from my record of that night, unbothered by how Gabe might feel reading it back. I was sure he’d understand. This was a liminal moment, she was a liminal being, ushering life into the world, bloodied and screaming, I realized perhaps stupidly belatedly I was sobbing openly, swept up in my astonishment.
And then I heard him scream, a piercing cry splitting the air around us. I felt Jen’s body go from sagging limply against me to sitting bolt upright, attempting to stand on her own.
“Help her to the bed, please,” Bex cooed warmly at me, “I’ll just get this lil chap washed up. She’ll be passing the afterbirth soon, remember to help her.”
I nodded, staring at my son in Bex’s arms--the top of a head and a plump arm peeking out of the blanket she’d wrapped him in. Hefting her up, I helped Jen get situated in the bed, propping her back up on the pillows.
“I did it! Eli, he’s here,” she breathed deliriously. I brought a glass of water up to her lips, held it as she greedily drank it up.
“You’re incredible. I love you.” I stated dumbly.
She gave a weak laugh, pressing her head back into the pillows, “Help me get this shirt off, please. He’ll be hungry.”
I pushed her shirt up over her full breasts, trying not to stare, helping her pull her limbs free of the arm holes, trying not to stare, before she decided to just keep it bunched up around her neck like a scarf, trying not to stare.
She turned to me, bleary eyes and a barely contained smirk, “So, not gay then?” She whispered. I gave her a shrug and a bewildered look, whispering back, “They’re just so big now!”, as Bex entered the room, a clean bundle of pink flesh wriggling and gurgling in her arms.
I watched, amazed, as he was passed carefully into Jen’s arms. Benjamin. He had her petite nose, her full, rosy lips. Her golden hair and deep blue eyes. I crawled into bed next to them, enchanted by this tiny creature.
“He looks nothing like me,” I breathed, “Thank god.”
Jen snorted weakly, “He’s got your curls,” she whispered, fingers brushing the sparse, downy curls at the crown of his head. Bex shuffled to the other side of the bed, showing Jen how to get Ben latched for his first meal.
I stared at him, blinking confusedly at this new world. His eyes would travel from here to there, unfocused, alighting on nothing for too long before darting off somewhere else. I reached out, touched his tiny hand and he grasped my finger tight.
I was broken from my reverie when Bex touched my shoulder, laying my phone on the bed next to me, “5:46 am. I check for Kat.”
I smiled a watery smile at her, “Thank you. You’ve been amazing.”
She nodded, smiling, and made her way out of the room. I heard her talking to Jan in the kitchen, no doubt filling out paperwork.
Around us, the world continued on as it always did--people waking up to get ready for work. A dog barked in the distance. Seagulls greeted the rising sun with excited squawks. And the three of us, at the centre of it all, suspended in a moment that felt untouchable--unbreakable.
************
I texted Kat an hour later, when Jen and Ben were fast asleep.
Benjamin David Grimm
7lbs 6oz
28 July 2013
5:46 AM
************
Ten minutes later, she texted back:
Leo Sun
Aries Moon
Leo Rising.
Good luck you two!
************
I stayed with them the whole first month.
The first week was rough. Benjamin was wonderful, happy, but with a healthy appetite that kept us up at all hours of the night. Jen decided in her first trimester she was going to breastfeed. There wasn’t much for me to do during feedings. I simply got up with her no matter the time, helped her into the rocking chair, brought her a glass of water, sat at her feet and softly sang lullabies, though I’m not which of the three of us I was trying to calm.
Around noon on the 28th, I texted Kat to ask her to swing around my place and pack me a bag. Told her not to forget my cigarettes and journal. And my fancy coffee.
She came round at one and dropped everything off, pressing close to me to whisper, “You could have warned me about the bright pink friend hiding in your sock drawer, thanks.” We
I filled her in on my spat with Jan the night before. I don’t know what she did or said after that, as she passed Jan in the living room on her way out the door. But Jan stayed well out of my way during my stay there.
Jen and I slept in the same bed. It wasn’t nearly as awkward as it could have been. Perhaps should have been. Benjamin slept in his bassinet right next to us. The first two weeks, we’d wake at every sigh or gurgle. By week three we got better at discerning which of his noises were distress and which were just noises.
I spent my days making sure Jen ate, though I didn’t always show that same kindness for myself. We became slightly delirious, falling into bed every night with unwashed hair and spit up soaked through the shoulders of our shirts.
Around week three, Jan came in to yell at us for being idiots and demanded we start doing things in shifts. So from that point on, when one of us ate, the other tended to the baby. When one of us showered, the other had Ben. Things got slightly more bearable.
I refused to stop getting up with them for nightly feedings, though.
Sometimes Jen and I would wake up as we did when we were still together--me on my back, her curled against me, head on my chest. We didn’t speak of it--didn’t have the capacity or time with Ben squealing shrilly in the background. Would have pinned it on muscle memory had we the time to discuss it.
My whole world had been reduced down to eat, sleep, baby, with little room left to unpack the undefinable feelings I had either developed or rediscovered for Jen. Or the fact that I’d thought of Gabe very little.
*************
The dam had to burst eventually.
And boy, did it.
*************
We were on the sofa, his warm body pressed to my side. My arms wrapped around him, his around me. I could smell him. I could smell him, was the thing. It all felt so very real. He pressed up impossibly closer to me, kissing down the length of my face. Sweet and passionate all at once. Christ, how I missed this. Missed him.
Time jumped, the way it only did in dreams. We were tumbling in sheets, my hands gripping his hips, his arse, his hands in my hair, my thighs. I was inside him. He was inside me. There were no longer borders between us--walls, time, skin.
I woke with a panted breath and release seeping into my boxer briefs. With a sigh, I got up, checked the clock. Six in the morning, I’d may as well get up. I shuffled over to the corner of the room where I’d dumped my bags, digging my journal out.
The patio of Jan’s back garden was cool in the early morning, the sun not yet fully risen. In the predawn light, I scribbled a quick note to Gabe.
5 August
I know you’ll read this after you’ve been home for a while, but if you don’t absolutely destroy me when you come back, I’ll use your gun on you.
Xx
***********
On 28 August, I left Jan’s.
Jen and I stood on the stoop, just staring at each other. It was more than not knowing what to say. Hell, it was more than just our shared astonishment at our new roles as parents.
I had worried, deep down, for a few weeks about the feelings I had towards Jen. I didn’t know what it was, feared more than anything I was actually in love with her.
There, on the stoop as we stared nakedly at each other, I knew finally what it was. A mixture of respect and closure. This time together, during and after Ben’s birth, we rediscovered those things that had drawn us to each other to begin with. Found our tenderness towards each other again. Whatever happened before, didn’t matter now. At least for the time being.
I stepped closer, kissing her sweetly on the forehead. “I’ll come by every day. I promise.”
“You better.” She grinned, adjusting her grip on Ben, wriggling in her arms.
I pulled the blanket away from his face, kissing his plump cheek, his soft temple, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Benny.”
It took me too long to pull myself away from them, to climb into the taxi. I watched them get smaller as we pulled away.
“Where to, bruv?”
“Oh, Christ, not you again.”
************
When I returned home, I found another dark blue envelope in the post. This time the note card read:
Jurys Inn
Kings Rd, Brighton
BN1 2GS
Room 3
Gabriel sends his regards.
E. Shepard
************
Gabe, as it turns out, rented me a room in a swish Brighton hotel. A three month stay, paid in full. The note didn’t say as much, but I knew he did it so I could be close to Jen and the baby until he returned.
The room contained a double bed, a sitting room, spacious bathroom. Flat screen, hot tub, aircon.
I stripped off immediately and clambered into the hot tub, vowing to invite Jen over for a soak the next day. Before I left my flat, I added fresh, clean clothes to my bag, as well as Gabe’s pink dildo. After I’d had a nice long soak, the tension mainly gone from my body, I made sure to pull all the curtains, put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door.
I pulled a mini bottle of champagne from the fridge, laid it and my journal out on the desk. I threw the decorative pillow off the chair and stuck the apparatus to the seat via its suction cup. I took a hand towel from the en suite and laid it near my journal, finally uncapping the bottle of lube I brought, hastily prepping myself.
Carefully, I sat near the edge of my seat, wiped the lube from my hand with the towel, and picked up my pen, ready to transcribe.
*******
28 August
I’m sitting in the room you’ve rented me, slowly teasing myself with your cock. Rocking slowly, so that it bumps my hole every now and then. I’m so hard, I’m leaking--was already hard just planning this. I need you so badly, but this will do for now.
I want it to be you behind me, rocking your cock against me, rubbing against my hole. I’m gonna fuck myself so hard for you, like I know you’d do it if you were here. But now, I’m teasing myself, like I know you’d do if you were here. Scratching my thighs, imagining your teeth. Pinching my nipples. Hard. I never knew I liked them played with before I got with you. No one ever bothered, and I never thought to try. The first time you put your mouth to my chest, I thought I’d come before you’d ever get to my cock.
I want you. Dripping with it, down my balls. I’ll be making a puddle on the chair before long. If it were up to me, I’d slam it in, fuck myself stupid, bring myself off quickly. But it’s not up to me. Tonight, I’m doing it the way you would. I’ll sink down onto your cock slowly, in a few minutes. After I’ve worked myself into a frenzy. Taking it at the pace I know you’d instruct me to.
God, I can just imagine you, leaning over my back, whispering filth into my ear. Telling me to take it slow, take my time. Even as you twist my nipple, bite my neck. Christ, I swear I can almost feel you, there, against the crook of my neck, your lips, your tongue, your teeth, your breath. Fuck. I have to.
I’m sinking down on your cock now. If you were here to see me, I’m sure you’d laugh. It’s quite hard to do this and write at the same time. Sorry if my penmanship suffers. Fuck. I have you fully sheathed now. I feel so full. The aircon just kicked on, the breeze of it on my cock just made me shiver. I’ve already made a mess of this chair. Christ, the noise I just made. I can almost imagine the moan you’d answer with. I’ve poured some of my champagne down my chest. I’m trying to think of you--thinking up new ways to torture myself, essentially. Figured you’d want to incorporate the champers into our play. If you were here.
Fuck, it’s cold. Feels so good on a hot night like this. The bubbles breaking over my skin is divine. Fuck, I need to move, it all feels too good.
Bracing my forearms on the desk as I write this and fuck myself on you. My thighs are burning, my cock bobbing heavily. I can only imagine how debauched I look right now. Wish you could see me. Could tell me what I look like. Watch me. I can almost feel your eyes on me. Christ. Christ. I came. Fuck. Wanted that to last longer. We need to recreate this when you get home.
*************
The next morning, all evidence of my previous night’s adventure long since cleaned, I called Jen to invite her over. I rocked Ben to sleep while she had a much appreciated soak in the hot tub.
If she had any questions about how I could afford this room, she didn’t voice them.
************
We spent the whole of September like this, bouncing back and forth from Jan’s to my hotel room. It nearly felt like a family vacation--yet another glimpse into what life could have been at another time, in a different life.
I took some of the stolen money and bought a second bassinet for the hotel room, knowing I could take it back to my flat once reality hit again.
In the mornings and afternoons, I was a father and co-parent. Changing nappies, holding my son, feeding him bottles of milk Jen had pumped before hand. Chatting idly with her, day dreaming aloud vague plans for our son’s future--prospective schools, all the extracurriculars he may be involved in.
In the evenings, I was a poet, writing my heart out to Gabe. Holding nothing back, pouring all my love and longing onto the page.
At night I was a deviant. Finding new and fantastical ways and places to fuck myself stupid all around the hotel room. This too, of course, I recorded for Gabe.
Each day I lived three separate lives, wondering when I would ever feel normal. Then wondering if I ever felt normal.
************
1 October
Night falls and something within me rises. A longing. A need. Lusting after a ghost.
Some nights I feel like a widow mourning mourning mourning.
Other nights it feels as though you’ve gone off to war--left to protect us, keep us safe. I wonder when you’ll get home--even though I know--and count the days (33 by this point, just over a month).
God help the man who tries to keep us apart next. I’ll kill him with my own hands.
************
As it turns out, that was a promise I couldn’t (and wouldn’t) keep. 31 of October, Jen had the sniffles. By 2 November, she was down with the flu and a fever of 103.
At some point in September, she finally inquired after Gabe. I told her he’d had a family emergency (not a lie--I’m sure the only son of a family being arrested is an emergency of sorts), and wouldn’t be back until the third.
When she called me on the second, she apologized profusely, her eyes rimmed red, her face a pale facsimile of her normal, effortless beauty. I shushed her, tucked her into bed with a pitcher of water on the nightstand, a cool cloth on her forehead.
I asked Jan to look after her, while I moved the bassinet and Ben into the front room.
She was devastated when she realized I would need to feed him formula. I tried my best to assure her it would be okay. I put Ben in his baby bjorn and strapped him to me, heading off to the store to buy bottles and formula.
The next 24 hours were a blur of baby feeding every three to four hours. Rocking him back to sleep, kipping whenever I could, chugging Jan’s stupid imported orange juice straight from the carton in a desperate attempt to stave off the illness.
I was dozing on the sofa around noon, Ben in the bassinet next to me, when my phone buzzed, vibrating happily against my chest where I’d dropped it.
“‘Lo?” I answered, voice gravelly.
“Oi! I’m home, yeah? Where’s my big reception?”
I sat bolt upright, immediately awake. “Gabe! Shit, sorry. Jen’s ill. She’s got the flu. I’m at Jan’s taking care of Ben.”
There was a pause before Gabe’s wonder-filled voice reached me, “He’s here?”
A slow smile parted my lips. “Yeah. July 28. Came a bit earlier than we thought. He’s wonderful.”
“I’m sure he is. A little Leo.”
“Christ, you and Kat, I swear.”
For the first time in what felt like years, I heard Gabe laugh. “How are you? I’ve missed you.”
“I’m alright, yeah? Therapy was...I hated it. But I think I feel better, maybe? Not gonna lie, mate, I’m just happy to be out.”
“I love you.” I said softly, it was the only thing going through my mind.
“Arse.” He said after a short pause. I chuckled softly, scared to wake Ben.
“You at your place?”
“Yeah. I’ll be waiting her for you.”
“I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
“You’d better.”
Again, I laughed.
**************
In total, I stayed five days.
Day two, the fourth of November, the text storm blew in. It started with Gabe checking in, making sure Jen was okay. I let him know her fever had dropped by a degree, but had not yet broken. That was all it took. If I wasn’t caring for Ben, I was texting Gabe.
By that evening, he was whining about being bored, which I understood meant he missed me. I stayed up until 1AM texting him, chatting shit.
Day three, Ben was incredibly fussy and Jen vomited four times. This could have been a controllable situation, had Jan not chosen that day to fuck off to get her nails done. I pushed the bassinet into Jen’s room, rubbing her back as she threw up in a waste paper basket. Helped her to the toilet thirty minutes later, holding her hair back with one hand while cradling Ben in the opposite arm.
By the time Jan got back home, I was exhausted, Ben was napping, and Jen’s fever had broken. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep on the sofa. I awoke at 6PM to the following texts:
Eli?
Gonna assume you’re busy with the baby.
my therapist said i should be honest about my feelings while i'm actually feelin them.
you know. instead of bottling them up
i miss you. i'm not saying that to make you feel guilty.
It’s just how i feel right now
Smiling to myself, I checked on Ben and seeing he was fine, I stepped outside for a smoke.
Sorry. Today was hell. I’ve missed you too. More than I can describe.
I left my journal. It’s on my kitchen table if you want to read it.
Do you still have my key?
Yeah sent some of my more important shit to mum before
Things started kicking off.
Funny way to phrase “before I got myself arrested”, I thought to myself.
Gabe?
Yeah?
Is that where your wedding ring went? To your mum’s?
Do you still have yours?
That’s not an answer.
Yeah
My journal is on the kitchen table. There’s a lot for you to catch up on. I love you, but it’s almost time for Ben to eat again.
Ok. love you Eli.
I exhaled the last drag from my cigarette, my heart feeling lighter.
And then Ben started screaming from inside the house.
********
The next two days were a flurry of texts. I read and replied whenever I could. Blessedly, Gabe saved the more scandalous texts for after sun set.
Just read the entry from when i left. Bastard.
Youve made me cry
Ive been to therapy
Ive got feelings now
All of them
Prick
Omg you drunk bastard!
Yes
I will make it up to you
Sorry i missed your bday
But i was doing something to benefit us both
But yeah
That arse is mine, Grimm
I look forward to it, Shepard.
I’ll make you a playlist.
Not right now
But eventually yeah
I promise
Thank you, Gabe.
Ur gonna have to explain this whole fro situation to me in person
I cannot imagine how that happened
Hope u enjoyed Nina xx
Yeah, about Nina.
You and I will have to have a talk about Punk Wedding at some point…
Christ Eli
Y?
Whatve u done?
Xx
Knob
By day five, I had a hard time hiding my giddiness at each collection of texts coming through. Around 11 in the morning, Jen was well enough to be up and around, shuffling through the kitchen to make herself some dry toast and a cup of weak tea. When she successfully held that down, she made a stronger cup, buttered a second slice of toast.
I’d just read a text from Gabe, yelling at me for suggesting we peruse T.K. Maxx for frocks for him to wear and trying my best to hide my amusement as I warmed a bottle for Ben.
She eyed me warily from over the rim of her mug. “What’s with you?”
“Nothing,” I tested the milk on my wrist, satisfied with the temperature, “Just texting Gabe.”
“Damn, that’s right. I’m probably fine now, Eli. You can go and--” I cut her off, placing my palm against her forehead. She was just a touch warm.
“I don’t know, Jenny,” I tisked at her, moving past to bring Ben his bottle.
“Well I do, and I’m fine. Low grade, at the most. Jan can help out from here, if I need anything.”
“Jen--”
“Listen. I know you miss him. And you’ve been waiting a while to see him. I’ve kept you here long enough. I know you’d do the same for me.”
She was right, of course. I would in a heartbeat.
“I’m staying until the evening. Just to make sure.”
“Fine. But if you’re hear past seven, I’ll finally let Jan loose on you.”
I made a pantomime of being terrified--big and hammy and melodramatic.
Jen threw the crust of her toast at me.
*******
So if I were to swing by yours at 7, you’d be there, right?
Jen feelin better then?
She’s kicking me out into the world to fend for myself.
And my son. I’m on some real hunter gatherer type shit over here.
Gotta keep the birds of prey away from your baby
Exactly.
Are you at yours or mine?
Neither
Neither?
Where are you?
There were still a few days left on your hotel tab
So im here in this posh hot tub
Takin a soak
I’m sorry
Let me get this straight.
You’ve been in Brighton this whole time?!
Not this whole time
Just the last two days
Why didn’t you say anything?
Been enjoyin boilin myself in this hot tub havent i
7PM, Gabriel.
I’ll pick u up
Ta
**********
It was 6:30. Ben was down for the night--until he needed fed next, at nine. I was smoking on the patio, eating Dominos with Jen--she was craving it after days of nothing but water and broth--when Gabe texted me next.
CHRIST ELI
Were u plannin on tellin me u wrote me fucking porno
Or were u just gonna let me find out myself
Fuck
This is the hottest shit ive ever read
Damn near broke my zip im so hard
I can SEE the chair u were in
Shit i can just imagine u
Im goin for a drive
I’ll be at Jen’s at 7 like promised
But i need to clear my head before i fuck u tonight
I could come at the touch of a light breeze atm
I coughed, clearing my throat of pizza grease, wiping my hand on a paper napkin before checking Jen’s temperature with the back of my hand. She was blissfully, blessedly cool.
“Told you,” she grinned. “Don’t worry about us. Go see your boyfriend. I’m sure he misses you.”
Leaned across the gap between us, kissing her temple. “Love you, Jenny. See you tomorrow.”
“Maybe not,” she snorted, rolling her eyes as she said, “Jan invited Mum over.”
“See you day after tomorrow!” I amended cheerily, earning a laugh and a swat to the arm from Jen.
Inside, I quickly jammed the few clothes I brought with me in my rucksack. Carefully, so very carefully, I kissed Ben’s forehead as I passed the bassinet, tiptoeing to the front door and quietly shutting it behind me.
On the stoop, I texted Gabe back.
I’m standing on Jan’s stoop now. Come pick me up.
I only had to wait long enough to smoke a cigarette before he pulled up, stretching over the centre console to open the passenger door for me.
“Wotcher?” He asked once I shut the door behind me, his grin wide, his eyes wild.
“Drive,” I implored simply, my own grin widening as he peeled off toward the hotel. We were silent, anticipating finally being alone, together, again. The drive was only three minutes. We still didn’t manage to make it out of the car.
He reached over awkwardly, pulling the lever to push my seat back. When he clambered into my lap, straddling me, I silently thanked god he had the foresight to pull into the more deserted corner of the carpark.
Our mouths met before I could register either of us leaning in, our teeth clacking one before our mouths lined up properly. I unzipped his leather jacket as he fumbled with the buttons of mine. I found a flimsy cotton shirt beneath, my hands wrapping round his waist before sliding down, back toward his arse. I pulled him closer with my grip, groin to groin as he finally got my coat open, plunging his hands under the henley he bought me so many months ago.
Pulling back from the kiss, he panted a desperate breath, bringing his cool fingers to my nipples, circling around them at a leisurely pace that did not match the frantic movements of our hips grinding together. “Fuck,” he breathed, “we should be doin’ this in our room. I should be working my tongue up your arse instead of rutting against you like a horny teen.”
I buried my face in his neck, his hair, breathing him in. I brought a hand forward, fumbling blindly with his zip, the button of his jeans. “Can’t wait. Need you now. Waited long enough.”
He moaned, moving to open his jeans as I did the same, watching him take his cock out, slick as ice. He must have been hard since before he texted me. The smell of him made my mouth water. I wanted to push him back into his seat, bend myself in two to take him in my mouth. Instead, I spat into my palm and took us both in hand, watching his eyes flutter shut, baring his teeth as I started to stroke.
“Fuck, Eli,” he moaned, fingers digging into my shoulders where he was gripping me, “Yes, yes, yes.”
I brought my free hand up, cupping the back of his head, bringing our foreheads together, sharing breath, panting into each other’s mouths. I could feel him twitching against me--my palm, my cock--and my grip tightened in his hair.
“Marry me,” I groaned, “Marry me.”
Gabe’s hips jerked toward me, his thighs tensed on either side of my lap as he came with a near-shout. Watching him--how his eyes rolled back as his eyelids fluttered shut, his mouth swollen and slack, back bowed as he rode it out--pushed me over the edge, my eyes focused on the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, throat undoubtedly sore from panting.
I floundered in the shallows of my orgasm, head thrown back against the seat as I tried to get a hold of my own breathing. I felt Gabe snuggle into the crook of my neck, his breath spilling down the collar of my shirt. I slid my hand from his hair back down to his arse, giving him an affectionate squeeze.
“Sorry,” I breathed, “Didn’t mean to ask again so soon. I’m a knob.”
“You are,” he said softly, slightly muffled, “and I will.”
Things froze for a moment--the air surrounding us, my breath, the world around us, my heart--before I asked, “Pardon?”
“I will,” he said a bit clearer, sounding resolute, “I will marry you.”
Rating: NC17 (as always)
Wordcount: 10,214 (it's a big'un)
Summary: Gabe leaves, Eli pines, the sun rises, Eli continues to write, he gets strange letters in the post, hangs out more with Kat and Jen. (Listen, there's a lot of stuff that happens here--it's over 10k words long, yo.
“I sit before flowers
hoping they will train me in the art
of opening up
I stand on mountain tops believing
that avalanches will teach me to let go
I know
nothing
but I am here to learn.”
--Shane Koyczan
And I was learning. I learned to listen not just to the words he said, or even the way in which he said them, but also the spaces between the words. I began to notice the ways in which his hands would twitch, or his feet would tap--the ways in which he would fidget. Which were signs of anxiety or stress. How he would hold his body when he needed space versus his posture when he needed to be held.
I, of course, didn’t master this during those last two days we had together. Hell, even now I still don’t always get it right. But by reviewing all I’d witness of him before--my intuition filtered through the intimate knowledge of his vulnerability--I knew enough by our last day to hear his devastation at having to leave me again even through his silence.
We woke before the sun. Whispered “good morning” into each other’s mouths. Held each other first like glass and then like steel--desperate and shaking like one grips a pistol. Like one last chance. Not a single word passed between us until the sun had been up an hour or so--long enough to begin to warm the room. I felt him pull away from me before his body ever moved.
The sweats he escaped in were crumpled in the corner of my bedroom--thrown there thoughtlessly on our first night here. I watched him pull them on. Then his socks. The pair of ratty old trainers from God knows where.
He leant over me, bent over the bed. “I love you,” he said. It was more than a statement. It was a promise. A plea.
“I love you, too.” A set of instructions. The gospel. I leaned up to kiss him one last time, pressed our foreheads together.
“You can stay at mine when you want. If you want.” He offered, refusing to pull back yet.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I reached up, tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Either way...I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Keep writing, yeah? S’beautiful.”
“I will.” I kissed him again. Twice. His mouth, the flat of his nose. “Now go on, before I try to keep you here.”
“I love you,” he said once more, straightening his spine, beginning to back away from me.
“I love you, too.”
I watched him walk out of the room, pausing at my bedroom door to turn around and pass a glance my way. And so my last glimpse of his face was obscured by a mask of trepidation and longing. I heard his footsteps retreat down the hall. My front door opening and closing. I didn’t know where exactly he was going--how he was going to go back miming tail between legs, play the misguided, troubled rich boy showing contrition, hoping for mercy.
I heard the front door open and then close, and he was gone.
I sighed heavily, rubbing my hands over my face. I stared at the ceiling for a long moment before rolling over onto my stomach, onto his side of the bed. Digging around on the floor next to the bedside table, I found my journal. A bit more digging found me a pen, and I leaned up against the headboard, lighting a cigarette before beginning to write.
14 June, 2013
I remember you, here, in this bed with me, after we came back from Stockton. I woke up to find you crying in your sleep. I remember--much later, when we were staying at your flat--as I watched you sleep, I wondered to myself what it was you dream about. What you long for. What scares you to tears in the night.
I still don’t know for certain, but I can make my guesses.
There are differences in our childhoods--things I can’t begin to try to imagine, that you have lived through. But I had a father who thought he was Moses and a mother who is a mystery perhaps even to herself.
So I know about uncertainty.
Most people remember as children, wondering what was going to be for supper.
I remember being a child and not knowing if there was going to be supper.
But I also remember being seven, in the back garden with my arms thrown out at my sides and the sun warming my cheeks, spinning and spinning and spinning, fast as I could in tight circles. This, after pumping my legs hard, back and forth, going higher and higher on the swing set. I thought if I tried hard enough, I could fly south like birds do. The wind could lift me and carry me off somewhere better. Or, barring that, I could perhaps spin myself so hard and so fast that my soul would somehow detach from my body so instead of being bound to the heavy limitations of my body, this world, my dad here on earth, I could experience the lightness of being a being of light, I could sit next to the Throne and feel the warmth of my Heavenly Father’s love.
But I would open my eyes and always find myself still in my back garden, vision swimming and bare feet dirty.
Uncertainty is a demon flicking its tongue against our guts like a lick of flame against glass--breaking us from the inside. It makes some of us grow trees for feet, our roots plunging into soil until inertia claims us fully. Our heads in the clouds, our feet too heavy to move from earth.
And some of us. Some of us flee from it, scattering like crows, like smoke.
Sighing, I stuck my pen between the pages of the journal, and let it fall to the mattress. The sun was bright, and I knew I had to start the day soon. I turned onto my side, pressed my face into my pillow, figuring a couple more hours of sleep couldn’t hurt.
*********
“You’ll never guess what Janice said about you the other day.” Jen smirked at me over her cup of chamomile tea.
“That I’m a low life shit and she hopes the baby somehow gets all of your genes?” I looked up from her feet in my lap, shooting her a playfully sarcastic look as I pushed my thumb up the arch of her foot.
“No. Not recently, anyway. She said you did a lovely job painting the nursery.” She informed me smartly, wiggling her toes.
“She’d forgotten I was the one who painted it, hadn’t she?”
“You caught me,” She sighed, resting her cup on her full stomach as she let her head fall back against the sofa arm. “You could have just taken the complement. You’re just allergic to happiness.”
“If that were true, I would have spent the last few months covered in hives.”
I felt her bristle slightly, lifting her eyes over the swell of her torso. After a heavy pause, she said quietly, “He really means a lot to you, eh?”
I met her gaze. There was a smirk smeared over her lips--half wry, half doleful.
“That’s not what I meant. Not entirely. I’m excited to meet this one,” I very gently poked her tummy, gaining a grin, “And...I know we’ll do a good job. You’ll do a great job. I’ll try my hardest not to fuck it up too badly--”, this earned me a light slap on the arm, “--I’m not scared, you know. I know that...I know you were probably terrified. To tell me. And I was a bit panicked myself. But making birthing plans with you, going to your appointments, getting the nursery ready...I’m excited Jenny. I am. I can’t wait to be a father, and I think you’ll be a wonderful mother. And I’m...I’m happy, is all.”
Jen gave me a watery smile, a small incredulous laugh, “God, Eli,” she sniffled a bit, “Don’t do that to me, you know I’m hormonal.” I gave her foot a gentle squeeze as I muttered a sheepish apology. Once she’d composed herself--it didn’t take long at all--she said softly, “I’m glad. You’re happy, that is. You seem...better, somehow. Not just happy, but...different. In a good way.”
“Thank you, Jenny.” We smiled softly at each other, not knowing what else was left to say. Jen’s eyes widened suddenly, motioning for me to give me her hand. “He’s kicking!”
She pressed my palm to the swell of her stomach, round and firm. I waited for a moment, the skin beneath her cotton top taut and warm. And then I felt it--finally. Each time he’d begun to kick or wriggle around, he stopped moving by the time I got my hand on her. But this time, he continued. I felt some part of him--a heel, an elbow, a knee--push against the heel of my hand, gliding across my palm.
My father had talked a lot about miracles, throughout my childhood. He’d bang on and on during his sermons, all the miraculous feats of Jesus, water into wine, loaves and fish. Healing lepers, resurrecting Lazarus. Tried to convince his small flock that he, a man of god, could heal them with a palm laid flat against their head.
But here, on Jan’s couch, my hand laid flat on Jen’s stomach, I was the recipient of a gift. Something indescribable. A life I helped to make, moving there in the woman I love, kicking out, raising hell. He was alive and so was I, here, now, in this space, at this time.
This all sounds so obvious, but understand: My childhood had been about death. Wanting to die. Our bodies are dirty, sinful. Our lives don’t truly begin to get good until we’re dead, in Heaven with our Father. I was never taught that now was important. The earth is Satan’s domain--don’t get too attached to anything here, don’t worry too much about now. Keep your head down and be a good boy so when you’re dead you can finally be happy.
But I was alive and I had a son, and Jen, and soon I’d have Gabe back. And I was happy. I could be happy here. Now. Fuck death and fuck god. I’m alive.
I cried. I cried and I cooed at Jen’s belly as she tried to convince me to stop--tired of crying at the drop of a hat herself.
When I got home that night, I sat at my kitchen table and wrote it all down for Gabe. It was 19 June.
*************
The next day, a card arrived in the post. A navy blue envelope, heavy stock. Obviously expensive. I turned it over in my hands--no return address. Curious, I opened it while waiting for my coffee to brew--the pricey shit I grew accustomed to while living with Gabe.
On cream coloured cardstock in black fountain pen was written a short missive:
Dear Elias,
Hello. I hope this message finds you well. My name is Elaine Shepard. I am writing you to update you on a subject close to both of our hearts.
We’ve just received news that Gabriel will be released on 3 November, 2013. He requested I share this good news with you the last time I spoke with him.
Warm regards,
E. Shepard.
I stared at the note, sipping my coffee and doing the maths in my head. Sitting at the kitchen table, I began to write to Gabe.
20 June
Your mother wrote to me.
137 days until I can see you again. 55 days until I get to meet my son.
To think that when we met, I had very little to live for. And now I’m actively looking forward to the future.
Your mother seems very cordial. Can’t wait to meet her at the wedding.
I, of course, wrote the last part with a smirk on my face.
*********
4 July, 2013
I am officially 31 years old.
I know you going off to rehab to save my skin should be enough of a gift, but I can’t wait to see how you make up for not being here.
I’m sure you have your own ideas. Kat took me out to get drunk. Well, she took me out for dinner. For my birthday. But I got drunk while there. I’m going to hate editing this page in the morning. Making it legible. But I got home tonight and did some research. I’m allowed to give you a wish list, I’m sure.
Have you ever heard of something called cock warming? Picture it: You sitting in your armchair, reading this journal, and me, on my knees between your legs, your cock in my mouth, keeping you warm. You can hold me still and fuck my mouth, let me lick you clean, and just stay there until you get hard again.
I did a lot of reading about that and I know we’ve got a no secrets policy now and I want it, which is why I’m telling you. Even though I know I’ll be embarrassed reading this back in the morning. But now I’m just drunk enough to tell you I did my research and then fucked myself exhausted after. I may’ve took that marital aid from your place on my walk home. I made myself come twice and took a break and came again.
122 days and I swear I might combust before you return to me. I don’t know which is worse--waiting for you without any idea when you’ll return, or waiting with an end date looming over me. I just want you here, in my arms, on the sofa next to me, annoying me, fucking me, loving me, guiding me. Forever.
I won’t propose again. I promise. Not here in this journal, anyway. Not with you so far away. Do you like The Cure? Of course you like The Cure. Look at you. I can’t believe I didn’t go through your record collection the first time you were gone. Stupid. You should make me a mixtape when you get back. Do people still do mixtapes? Probably not. What do the kids do these days?
Playlists. I just texted Kat to ask her. Playlists. That’s what they do.
Why are you so far away, she said,
Why won’t you ever know that I’m in love with you
That I’m in love with you?
Can that be our song? Do we have a song? You are strange as angels. Gabriel! I don’t know what my dad was so cross about--I’m dating an angel. A Shepard. My saviour. My martyr.
I miss you so much. Fuck, I’ll be hungover in the morning. I can’t wait to see you. Hold you. Hear you. I miss you. Love you. Forever. Always. Til death do us part, eventually.
********
5 July
Christ, I’m a knob.
********
“I can’t believe he’s in love with you!”
Her tone was jovial--there wasn’t a hint of malice in her tone, despite how harsh her words sounded. Still yet, hearing it did sting a bit.
I sat on the closed lid of Kat’s toilet, her deft fingers working some floral smelling product into my hair. She asked to use my head to test out some new products--are hair being so similar. The bathroom was small, crowded. The most disconcerting detail was the fact she and her friend--Rob--decided to paint it bright yellow since the last time I’d visited.
“Wow. Thanks.” I muttered sarcastically, wincing as she rolled a foam curler into the hair at the crown of my head.
“I didn’t mean it like that, Goose. It’s just,” she paused, turning at the waist to grab a bobby pin off the sink before carelessly using it to stab me in my scalp. “Gabe isn’t the most...I don’t know. He seemed to me like the type to be content staying single. Friends with benefits type, you know.”
“You jealous?” I smirked, incapable of not taking the mick.
“No!” She laughed, reaching for another foam roller, “He was fun, but just not what I needed from a partner.”
“And what’s that, exactly?”
“Someone boring like you.”
I pinched the bit of flesh at her hip, rolling over the top of her sleep shorts. She smacked my hand and tutted.
“That’s why you and Gabe work so well! He and I need boring boyfriends. Gabe and I are movers. Shakers,” she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial tone and grinned, “The type of people to convince a new lover to rob a bank.”
I pinched her again. “Your bathroom is ugly.”
“Shut your mouth! I’ll have you know I colour matched this paint to the exact shade of Nina Hagen’s hair!”
I made a face, wondering how she even knew of Nina Hagen, growing up in the house we did. Which triggered another thought.
“How did you and Gabe meet?”
She snorted a laugh through her nose, rolling the last free bit of my hair around a foam curler. “House party. Gimme a fag, please.”
“I’m sitting right here,” the joke left my mouth before I could analyze it, which earned me a slap. I dug the packet and lighter from my pocket and passed it to her, “How’d you get to a house party? Where was dad?”
“He takes Stilnoct now. Out like a light by nine,” she took a long pull off the cigarette, blew a plume of smoke out over my head, “My friend Allie was having a party. Her older cousins came over. Gabe’s friend with that lot. He was there, I asked him what his sign was--”, she glared at me when I made a derisive noise, “Oh shut up. We talked about a lot of stuff that night. Music, poetry, fashion. It was a lot of fun. You could learn a lot from him.”
“Oh, please,” I rolled my eyes.
“I’m serious! Ask him sometime about how the Versace Autumn-Winter line of ‘98 pulls inspiration from both Caravaggio and Petrus Christus.”
“Fucking Versace,” I spat, nicking the cigarette off her.
“Steven Meisel shot it,” she practically whined, “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m sure.”
“And my bathroom is, too.”
“Whatever, Nina.”
“We spun in circles, dancing to Punk Wedding. Like a two person mosh pit where no one touched,” she laughed, remembering the scene they caused, groping for something behind her on the countertop.
“Great, I’ll make sure to play that one at our wedding, ta.”
She dropped her hair dryer. “Wedding?!”
Shit.
“Yeah, er,” I rubbed awkwardly at the back of my neck, disturbing one of the rollers at my nape, “I asked him. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no, either.” I felt my face heat up.
Kat snatched the hair dryer off the floor and plugged it in. “As close to a ‘yes’ as I could ever see him giving,” she shrugged with one shoulder, a quick up and down motion. “Now be still, I gotta set these curls.”
**********
17 July
I have, what I can only describe as, an afro. It’s Kat’s fault. If you really want to know, ask me about it when you read this. But I really don’t wish to relive it right now.
Also, I am an idiot, but you already knew that. I’ve ordered take away, and I’ve borrowed your copy of Angstlos and will be listening to Zarah on repeat.
**********
24 July
Met Kat’s friend Allie today. Went to shake her hand and she read my palm.
Apparently you and I will have five children. She also said my wife will be beautiful and loyal, so no matter how you feel you’d look as a bird, I think it’s time to start investing in some pretty frocks.
102 days, my love, and we’ll go back to T.K. Maxx.
***********
“I’m so ready for this to be over with, “ Jen huffed, sitting on the sofa with much difficulty. I passed her her bowl of ice cream and sat slowly down next to her. “Thanks, Eli.”
“I’m sorry, Jenny. I’d carry him for you if I could.” I shot her a look I hoped read as contrite.
“Would you?” She raised a brow at me, scooping up a spoonful of rocky road.
“...I’d carry him for four and a half months for you. Split it down the middle, even steven.”
“Better than nothing, I’ll take it.” She chuckled, “I’m just ready to meet my son. And stop feeling like shit. Everything aches. My back is killing me--finally know how Jan must feel.” She held her hands out before her chest, mimicking massive breasts as well as she could with the bowl still in her hand.
“I don’t know, Jenny--I think you might catch up with her before too long,” I nodded to her own chest.
“Eli!” she gawped. I realized she hadn’t been with me throughout the whole of my journey thus far--was unaccustomed to me being so bold in matters pertaining to the human form.
“Sorry,” I could feel the tips of my ears heating up, “I er, I didn’t mean anything by it. Sorry.”
“You’ve changed, Eli,” she smirked at me, shifting slightly in her seat with a wince she tried poorly to hide.
“I’ll get the hemorrhoid doughnut then,” I got up to retrieve it, and she threw a decorative pillow at my back.
*************
It happened on 28 July--19 days before we expected it.
I woke to my mobile chiming happily on the nightstand. Groggily, I rolled over and plucked it up, answering it with bleary eyes and a confused, “Uh?”
“Eli, get over here NOW. Jen’s in labour.” Jan’s voice assaulted me, making me jolt upright.
“Right! Right! I’m on my way. Has the midwife been called? Did you call the midwife? What about the doula? No, we decided against the doula. Is the midwife on her way? What was her name, Bella? Belinda? I know it wasn’t Bertha--”
“YES. She’s been called. Get here NOW.” The line went dead in my ear. I would have been annoyed, had I not already been up and struggling to pull my jeans up my legs. I searched for my mobile for a few minutes before realizing I was still holding it, and phoned a taxi.
I silently cursed Gabe for not being there. For not being there to drive me to Jan’s. For not being there to keep me calm, to remind me I could do this. I tried to imagine what comforting words he’d say to me if he were there and could hear his voice in my head saying, “I wasn’t there to help you make the baby, Eli, you don’t need me there to help deliver it.”
It was enough to keep me going. To keep my feet moving towards the curb, lighting a cigarette while I waited for the taxi.
The ride was a blur. The radio blared the whole time, and I can only remember snatches of conversation with the young man driving me.
I gave him the address and told him to hurry. He made some joke about not being a getaway driver.
“My ex is having a baby!” I all but shouted at him.
I watched his brows shoot to his hairline in the rear view, “Congrats, bruv!” He peeled out, took the turn at the end of the street a bit too hard.
“Hey! I’d like to actually meet my son tonight, thank you. Maybe slow down a bit,” I braced myself against the backseat.
“Right, right, sorry bruv. Don’t wanna fuck up yer chance to get back with yer girl, too, huh?” He gave me a too familiar grin.
“Don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate that too much, bruv,” I shot back.
That kept the small talk down to a minimum, thank Christ.
When we finally pulled up, Jan was already rushing out the front door, her hair in disarray--half of the curlers she went to bed in dangling limply from the ends of her hair, bouncing against the dressing gown wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
“ELI! What the hell took you so long?!”
I pressed a fat wad of bills into the young man’s hand and slid out of the taxi. “I got here as soon as I could, Janet. Why aren’t you in there with her, hmm? Is the midwife here?”
“She got here ten minutes ago, which is more than I can say for you,” Jan sniffed haughtily, literally looking down on me from her front stoop.
“What the fuck did you want me to do, Janet?” I hissed through my teeth, stomping up the steps to look her in the eyes, “I don’t have a car. I ordered a taxi. I got here as fast as I could. Did you want me to run? Go, go, Gadget turbo legs?”
“Don’t be such a smart arse, Eli--”
“Shut up, Janet!” I took two strides towards her, well within her personal space, “You don’t like me. I get it, that’s fine. You don’t need to. But I will not allow you to make a scene right now. I refuse to hit a woman, but I am not above sicing my sister on you. Move.”
She glared at me for a moment before stepping aside.
As it turns out, the midwife’s name was Bex, short for Rebecca. An old hippie type with a silver hoop in her nose. She talked in hushed tones and was the most serene person I’ve ever met.
“You must be the father,” she stepped forward, arm extended. Her palm was dry and warm when I shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too, ta,” I followed her to the bedroom, “How’s she doing?”
“It will be a while still--she’s at three centimeters, currently. Contractions are still pretty far apart. She’s been asking for you since I got here. New mother nerves, I think she’s afraid you’ll miss it.” She smiled sweetly at me, opening the door and ushering me through.
Jen was laid on the bed, one of her numerous parenting books propped up on her belly. Her hair was only mostly in the bun she went to bed in, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.
“Are you sure you’re in labour?” I teased.
“It’s not so bad between contractions. Bex says it’ll get worse before too long, though. Looking forward to that.” she rolled her eyes, throwing her book to the side. She took her glasses off, folded them neatly and passed them to me, “Can you put these on the nightstand for me? I can’t swivel too well right now.”
I took them off her and placed them gingerly on the table beside her. Stuffed my hands in my pockets. Now that I was there, I hadn’t any idea what to do. I knew when it was time for the baby to come, my job was to hold Jen’s hand, help her breathe, encourage her. But until then, I was totally lost.
She patted the mattress beside her, inviting me up. I slid onto the bed next to her, allowed her to rest her head on my shoulder. “You know,” she said softly, “I was so ready for this the other day. You remember? And now I’m absolutely shitting myself.”
I laughed, wrapping my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to me. “Perhaps literally before the night is over.”
She slapped my chest, snuggled further into it, “You have to promise me, if that happens, you’ll put me out of my misery. I know it’ll be hard for you to raise him alone, but I’m sure you and Gabe will do a splendid job.”
“Oh, hush now. If it happens, Bex and I will swear an oath to never tell. I’ll deck Jan to make sure she doesn’t know. If she smells it, we’ll tell her the baby shat.”
Jen laughed heartily, wriggled a bit to get more comfortable. “I might kip on you, if that’s alright.”
“Please, it’ll give me something to do. I’m feeling a bit useless here.”
“Shhh, sleep time please.”
“Alright.”
*********
The night dragged on.
At one point, I texted Kat to let her know it was happening. She demanded I look at the clock to tell her his exact birth time--evidently drafting an accurate birth chart for her nephew was of the utmost importance to her.
I kept her updated via text, every centimeter, every contraction. Jen slept off and on, woken only by contractions or Jan, fluttering into the room anxiously, trying to stuff more pillows under her neck. She left when one of her visits coincided with Jen’s pain--Jen yelling at her to get her “overly aerobicized arse out of the room”, tail tucked between her legs.
Difficult to hold a smirk back during that scene.
Finally--finally--it was time. Bex instructed me to help Jen squat, the position and gravity helping with the delivery. I wrapped an arm around Jen, between her stomach and her breasts, my other hand clasping her’s tightly.
Her temple pressed into my cheek, her sweat slicking my skin, my stubble no doubt irritating her’s. I felt the bones in my fingers click, grinding together as she squeezed my hand tightly, her teeth gritted, face red.
My thighs burned as I squatted behind her. Over Jen’s shoulder, Bex smiled at me. “Give me your hand, Eli.”
Wide eyed and curious, I allowed her to guide my hand down between Jen’s legs, feeling the top of my son’s head breaching.
“Siri!” I screeched wildly, half out of my mind, “Text Kat. ‘Top of his head is out. Does that count?’ Send!”
Bex chuckled. Jen groaned. “We’ll need another push, Mummy. One good push and his head will be out.”
Jen panted in my ear, whining. “Come on, Jenny. In and out,” I demonstrated the breathing technique until she began to do it with me, “There you go, you’re doing great.”
Jen pushed hard, a groan turning to a near yell, and at the end of it, a sound of vague relief. Her breathing was laboured, her body broken out in a film of sweat, I felt her shudder in pain.
“I can’t,” she said weakly, “I can’t do it, Eli. I don’t...I’m too tired I can’t do it.”
“Remember your birth mantra,” I whispered soothingly, “‘My body was made to do this’.”
“It wasn’t. It can’t. I don’t have anything left in me.”
“You have most of a baby left in you, Jenny. What, two more pushes, Bex?”
Bex nodded, “Just two more. Possibly one. You can do it, Jen. You’ve got this.”
Jen sobbed, pushed her face deeper into the crook of my neck. I felt her try to regain control over her breathing, to do the exercises we’d learn together, before muttering, “Sod it,” and bearing down hard, pushing with all her might.
She screamed, my ear ringing with it. Her body shook and I thought in a wild moment of wonder and panic, maybe her body wasn’t made for this. She felt like she may explode at a moment’s notice. Her scream paused, silent, and a primal noise tore from her throat, her eyes scrunched tightly closed beneath her sweaty fringe. Finally, that relieved noise punched its way out of her, her eyes opened, glassy, fixed on nothing in particular.
I had never been more in awe of her than I was in that moment. If I were single, I would have proposed to her in that instant. I would have erected a church dedicated to her, her strength, her beauty. A fact I would later not bother omitting from my record of that night, unbothered by how Gabe might feel reading it back. I was sure he’d understand. This was a liminal moment, she was a liminal being, ushering life into the world, bloodied and screaming, I realized perhaps stupidly belatedly I was sobbing openly, swept up in my astonishment.
And then I heard him scream, a piercing cry splitting the air around us. I felt Jen’s body go from sagging limply against me to sitting bolt upright, attempting to stand on her own.
“Help her to the bed, please,” Bex cooed warmly at me, “I’ll just get this lil chap washed up. She’ll be passing the afterbirth soon, remember to help her.”
I nodded, staring at my son in Bex’s arms--the top of a head and a plump arm peeking out of the blanket she’d wrapped him in. Hefting her up, I helped Jen get situated in the bed, propping her back up on the pillows.
“I did it! Eli, he’s here,” she breathed deliriously. I brought a glass of water up to her lips, held it as she greedily drank it up.
“You’re incredible. I love you.” I stated dumbly.
She gave a weak laugh, pressing her head back into the pillows, “Help me get this shirt off, please. He’ll be hungry.”
I pushed her shirt up over her full breasts, trying not to stare, helping her pull her limbs free of the arm holes, trying not to stare, before she decided to just keep it bunched up around her neck like a scarf, trying not to stare.
She turned to me, bleary eyes and a barely contained smirk, “So, not gay then?” She whispered. I gave her a shrug and a bewildered look, whispering back, “They’re just so big now!”, as Bex entered the room, a clean bundle of pink flesh wriggling and gurgling in her arms.
I watched, amazed, as he was passed carefully into Jen’s arms. Benjamin. He had her petite nose, her full, rosy lips. Her golden hair and deep blue eyes. I crawled into bed next to them, enchanted by this tiny creature.
“He looks nothing like me,” I breathed, “Thank god.”
Jen snorted weakly, “He’s got your curls,” she whispered, fingers brushing the sparse, downy curls at the crown of his head. Bex shuffled to the other side of the bed, showing Jen how to get Ben latched for his first meal.
I stared at him, blinking confusedly at this new world. His eyes would travel from here to there, unfocused, alighting on nothing for too long before darting off somewhere else. I reached out, touched his tiny hand and he grasped my finger tight.
I was broken from my reverie when Bex touched my shoulder, laying my phone on the bed next to me, “5:46 am. I check for Kat.”
I smiled a watery smile at her, “Thank you. You’ve been amazing.”
She nodded, smiling, and made her way out of the room. I heard her talking to Jan in the kitchen, no doubt filling out paperwork.
Around us, the world continued on as it always did--people waking up to get ready for work. A dog barked in the distance. Seagulls greeted the rising sun with excited squawks. And the three of us, at the centre of it all, suspended in a moment that felt untouchable--unbreakable.
************
I texted Kat an hour later, when Jen and Ben were fast asleep.
Benjamin David Grimm
7lbs 6oz
28 July 2013
5:46 AM
************
Ten minutes later, she texted back:
Leo Sun
Aries Moon
Leo Rising.
Good luck you two!
************
I stayed with them the whole first month.
The first week was rough. Benjamin was wonderful, happy, but with a healthy appetite that kept us up at all hours of the night. Jen decided in her first trimester she was going to breastfeed. There wasn’t much for me to do during feedings. I simply got up with her no matter the time, helped her into the rocking chair, brought her a glass of water, sat at her feet and softly sang lullabies, though I’m not which of the three of us I was trying to calm.
Around noon on the 28th, I texted Kat to ask her to swing around my place and pack me a bag. Told her not to forget my cigarettes and journal. And my fancy coffee.
She came round at one and dropped everything off, pressing close to me to whisper, “You could have warned me about the bright pink friend hiding in your sock drawer, thanks.” We
I filled her in on my spat with Jan the night before. I don’t know what she did or said after that, as she passed Jan in the living room on her way out the door. But Jan stayed well out of my way during my stay there.
Jen and I slept in the same bed. It wasn’t nearly as awkward as it could have been. Perhaps should have been. Benjamin slept in his bassinet right next to us. The first two weeks, we’d wake at every sigh or gurgle. By week three we got better at discerning which of his noises were distress and which were just noises.
I spent my days making sure Jen ate, though I didn’t always show that same kindness for myself. We became slightly delirious, falling into bed every night with unwashed hair and spit up soaked through the shoulders of our shirts.
Around week three, Jan came in to yell at us for being idiots and demanded we start doing things in shifts. So from that point on, when one of us ate, the other tended to the baby. When one of us showered, the other had Ben. Things got slightly more bearable.
I refused to stop getting up with them for nightly feedings, though.
Sometimes Jen and I would wake up as we did when we were still together--me on my back, her curled against me, head on my chest. We didn’t speak of it--didn’t have the capacity or time with Ben squealing shrilly in the background. Would have pinned it on muscle memory had we the time to discuss it.
My whole world had been reduced down to eat, sleep, baby, with little room left to unpack the undefinable feelings I had either developed or rediscovered for Jen. Or the fact that I’d thought of Gabe very little.
*************
The dam had to burst eventually.
And boy, did it.
*************
We were on the sofa, his warm body pressed to my side. My arms wrapped around him, his around me. I could smell him. I could smell him, was the thing. It all felt so very real. He pressed up impossibly closer to me, kissing down the length of my face. Sweet and passionate all at once. Christ, how I missed this. Missed him.
Time jumped, the way it only did in dreams. We were tumbling in sheets, my hands gripping his hips, his arse, his hands in my hair, my thighs. I was inside him. He was inside me. There were no longer borders between us--walls, time, skin.
I woke with a panted breath and release seeping into my boxer briefs. With a sigh, I got up, checked the clock. Six in the morning, I’d may as well get up. I shuffled over to the corner of the room where I’d dumped my bags, digging my journal out.
The patio of Jan’s back garden was cool in the early morning, the sun not yet fully risen. In the predawn light, I scribbled a quick note to Gabe.
5 August
I know you’ll read this after you’ve been home for a while, but if you don’t absolutely destroy me when you come back, I’ll use your gun on you.
Xx
***********
On 28 August, I left Jan’s.
Jen and I stood on the stoop, just staring at each other. It was more than not knowing what to say. Hell, it was more than just our shared astonishment at our new roles as parents.
I had worried, deep down, for a few weeks about the feelings I had towards Jen. I didn’t know what it was, feared more than anything I was actually in love with her.
There, on the stoop as we stared nakedly at each other, I knew finally what it was. A mixture of respect and closure. This time together, during and after Ben’s birth, we rediscovered those things that had drawn us to each other to begin with. Found our tenderness towards each other again. Whatever happened before, didn’t matter now. At least for the time being.
I stepped closer, kissing her sweetly on the forehead. “I’ll come by every day. I promise.”
“You better.” She grinned, adjusting her grip on Ben, wriggling in her arms.
I pulled the blanket away from his face, kissing his plump cheek, his soft temple, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Benny.”
It took me too long to pull myself away from them, to climb into the taxi. I watched them get smaller as we pulled away.
“Where to, bruv?”
“Oh, Christ, not you again.”
************
When I returned home, I found another dark blue envelope in the post. This time the note card read:
Jurys Inn
Kings Rd, Brighton
BN1 2GS
Room 3
Gabriel sends his regards.
E. Shepard
************
Gabe, as it turns out, rented me a room in a swish Brighton hotel. A three month stay, paid in full. The note didn’t say as much, but I knew he did it so I could be close to Jen and the baby until he returned.
The room contained a double bed, a sitting room, spacious bathroom. Flat screen, hot tub, aircon.
I stripped off immediately and clambered into the hot tub, vowing to invite Jen over for a soak the next day. Before I left my flat, I added fresh, clean clothes to my bag, as well as Gabe’s pink dildo. After I’d had a nice long soak, the tension mainly gone from my body, I made sure to pull all the curtains, put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door.
I pulled a mini bottle of champagne from the fridge, laid it and my journal out on the desk. I threw the decorative pillow off the chair and stuck the apparatus to the seat via its suction cup. I took a hand towel from the en suite and laid it near my journal, finally uncapping the bottle of lube I brought, hastily prepping myself.
Carefully, I sat near the edge of my seat, wiped the lube from my hand with the towel, and picked up my pen, ready to transcribe.
*******
28 August
I’m sitting in the room you’ve rented me, slowly teasing myself with your cock. Rocking slowly, so that it bumps my hole every now and then. I’m so hard, I’m leaking--was already hard just planning this. I need you so badly, but this will do for now.
I want it to be you behind me, rocking your cock against me, rubbing against my hole. I’m gonna fuck myself so hard for you, like I know you’d do it if you were here. But now, I’m teasing myself, like I know you’d do if you were here. Scratching my thighs, imagining your teeth. Pinching my nipples. Hard. I never knew I liked them played with before I got with you. No one ever bothered, and I never thought to try. The first time you put your mouth to my chest, I thought I’d come before you’d ever get to my cock.
I want you. Dripping with it, down my balls. I’ll be making a puddle on the chair before long. If it were up to me, I’d slam it in, fuck myself stupid, bring myself off quickly. But it’s not up to me. Tonight, I’m doing it the way you would. I’ll sink down onto your cock slowly, in a few minutes. After I’ve worked myself into a frenzy. Taking it at the pace I know you’d instruct me to.
God, I can just imagine you, leaning over my back, whispering filth into my ear. Telling me to take it slow, take my time. Even as you twist my nipple, bite my neck. Christ, I swear I can almost feel you, there, against the crook of my neck, your lips, your tongue, your teeth, your breath. Fuck. I have to.
I’m sinking down on your cock now. If you were here to see me, I’m sure you’d laugh. It’s quite hard to do this and write at the same time. Sorry if my penmanship suffers. Fuck. I have you fully sheathed now. I feel so full. The aircon just kicked on, the breeze of it on my cock just made me shiver. I’ve already made a mess of this chair. Christ, the noise I just made. I can almost imagine the moan you’d answer with. I’ve poured some of my champagne down my chest. I’m trying to think of you--thinking up new ways to torture myself, essentially. Figured you’d want to incorporate the champers into our play. If you were here.
Fuck, it’s cold. Feels so good on a hot night like this. The bubbles breaking over my skin is divine. Fuck, I need to move, it all feels too good.
Bracing my forearms on the desk as I write this and fuck myself on you. My thighs are burning, my cock bobbing heavily. I can only imagine how debauched I look right now. Wish you could see me. Could tell me what I look like. Watch me. I can almost feel your eyes on me. Christ. Christ. I came. Fuck. Wanted that to last longer. We need to recreate this when you get home.
*************
The next morning, all evidence of my previous night’s adventure long since cleaned, I called Jen to invite her over. I rocked Ben to sleep while she had a much appreciated soak in the hot tub.
If she had any questions about how I could afford this room, she didn’t voice them.
************
We spent the whole of September like this, bouncing back and forth from Jan’s to my hotel room. It nearly felt like a family vacation--yet another glimpse into what life could have been at another time, in a different life.
I took some of the stolen money and bought a second bassinet for the hotel room, knowing I could take it back to my flat once reality hit again.
In the mornings and afternoons, I was a father and co-parent. Changing nappies, holding my son, feeding him bottles of milk Jen had pumped before hand. Chatting idly with her, day dreaming aloud vague plans for our son’s future--prospective schools, all the extracurriculars he may be involved in.
In the evenings, I was a poet, writing my heart out to Gabe. Holding nothing back, pouring all my love and longing onto the page.
At night I was a deviant. Finding new and fantastical ways and places to fuck myself stupid all around the hotel room. This too, of course, I recorded for Gabe.
Each day I lived three separate lives, wondering when I would ever feel normal. Then wondering if I ever felt normal.
************
1 October
Night falls and something within me rises. A longing. A need. Lusting after a ghost.
Some nights I feel like a widow mourning mourning mourning.
Other nights it feels as though you’ve gone off to war--left to protect us, keep us safe. I wonder when you’ll get home--even though I know--and count the days (33 by this point, just over a month).
God help the man who tries to keep us apart next. I’ll kill him with my own hands.
************
As it turns out, that was a promise I couldn’t (and wouldn’t) keep. 31 of October, Jen had the sniffles. By 2 November, she was down with the flu and a fever of 103.
At some point in September, she finally inquired after Gabe. I told her he’d had a family emergency (not a lie--I’m sure the only son of a family being arrested is an emergency of sorts), and wouldn’t be back until the third.
When she called me on the second, she apologized profusely, her eyes rimmed red, her face a pale facsimile of her normal, effortless beauty. I shushed her, tucked her into bed with a pitcher of water on the nightstand, a cool cloth on her forehead.
I asked Jan to look after her, while I moved the bassinet and Ben into the front room.
She was devastated when she realized I would need to feed him formula. I tried my best to assure her it would be okay. I put Ben in his baby bjorn and strapped him to me, heading off to the store to buy bottles and formula.
The next 24 hours were a blur of baby feeding every three to four hours. Rocking him back to sleep, kipping whenever I could, chugging Jan’s stupid imported orange juice straight from the carton in a desperate attempt to stave off the illness.
I was dozing on the sofa around noon, Ben in the bassinet next to me, when my phone buzzed, vibrating happily against my chest where I’d dropped it.
“‘Lo?” I answered, voice gravelly.
“Oi! I’m home, yeah? Where’s my big reception?”
I sat bolt upright, immediately awake. “Gabe! Shit, sorry. Jen’s ill. She’s got the flu. I’m at Jan’s taking care of Ben.”
There was a pause before Gabe’s wonder-filled voice reached me, “He’s here?”
A slow smile parted my lips. “Yeah. July 28. Came a bit earlier than we thought. He’s wonderful.”
“I’m sure he is. A little Leo.”
“Christ, you and Kat, I swear.”
For the first time in what felt like years, I heard Gabe laugh. “How are you? I’ve missed you.”
“I’m alright, yeah? Therapy was...I hated it. But I think I feel better, maybe? Not gonna lie, mate, I’m just happy to be out.”
“I love you.” I said softly, it was the only thing going through my mind.
“Arse.” He said after a short pause. I chuckled softly, scared to wake Ben.
“You at your place?”
“Yeah. I’ll be waiting her for you.”
“I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
“You’d better.”
Again, I laughed.
**************
In total, I stayed five days.
Day two, the fourth of November, the text storm blew in. It started with Gabe checking in, making sure Jen was okay. I let him know her fever had dropped by a degree, but had not yet broken. That was all it took. If I wasn’t caring for Ben, I was texting Gabe.
By that evening, he was whining about being bored, which I understood meant he missed me. I stayed up until 1AM texting him, chatting shit.
Day three, Ben was incredibly fussy and Jen vomited four times. This could have been a controllable situation, had Jan not chosen that day to fuck off to get her nails done. I pushed the bassinet into Jen’s room, rubbing her back as she threw up in a waste paper basket. Helped her to the toilet thirty minutes later, holding her hair back with one hand while cradling Ben in the opposite arm.
By the time Jan got back home, I was exhausted, Ben was napping, and Jen’s fever had broken. I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep on the sofa. I awoke at 6PM to the following texts:
Eli?
Gonna assume you’re busy with the baby.
my therapist said i should be honest about my feelings while i'm actually feelin them.
you know. instead of bottling them up
i miss you. i'm not saying that to make you feel guilty.
It’s just how i feel right now
Smiling to myself, I checked on Ben and seeing he was fine, I stepped outside for a smoke.
Sorry. Today was hell. I’ve missed you too. More than I can describe.
I left my journal. It’s on my kitchen table if you want to read it.
Do you still have my key?
Yeah sent some of my more important shit to mum before
Things started kicking off.
Funny way to phrase “before I got myself arrested”, I thought to myself.
Gabe?
Yeah?
Is that where your wedding ring went? To your mum’s?
Do you still have yours?
That’s not an answer.
Yeah
My journal is on the kitchen table. There’s a lot for you to catch up on. I love you, but it’s almost time for Ben to eat again.
Ok. love you Eli.
I exhaled the last drag from my cigarette, my heart feeling lighter.
And then Ben started screaming from inside the house.
********
The next two days were a flurry of texts. I read and replied whenever I could. Blessedly, Gabe saved the more scandalous texts for after sun set.
Just read the entry from when i left. Bastard.
Youve made me cry
Ive been to therapy
Ive got feelings now
All of them
Prick
Omg you drunk bastard!
Yes
I will make it up to you
Sorry i missed your bday
But i was doing something to benefit us both
But yeah
That arse is mine, Grimm
I look forward to it, Shepard.
I’ll make you a playlist.
Not right now
But eventually yeah
I promise
Thank you, Gabe.
Ur gonna have to explain this whole fro situation to me in person
I cannot imagine how that happened
Hope u enjoyed Nina xx
Yeah, about Nina.
You and I will have to have a talk about Punk Wedding at some point…
Christ Eli
Y?
Whatve u done?
Xx
Knob
By day five, I had a hard time hiding my giddiness at each collection of texts coming through. Around 11 in the morning, Jen was well enough to be up and around, shuffling through the kitchen to make herself some dry toast and a cup of weak tea. When she successfully held that down, she made a stronger cup, buttered a second slice of toast.
I’d just read a text from Gabe, yelling at me for suggesting we peruse T.K. Maxx for frocks for him to wear and trying my best to hide my amusement as I warmed a bottle for Ben.
She eyed me warily from over the rim of her mug. “What’s with you?”
“Nothing,” I tested the milk on my wrist, satisfied with the temperature, “Just texting Gabe.”
“Damn, that’s right. I’m probably fine now, Eli. You can go and--” I cut her off, placing my palm against her forehead. She was just a touch warm.
“I don’t know, Jenny,” I tisked at her, moving past to bring Ben his bottle.
“Well I do, and I’m fine. Low grade, at the most. Jan can help out from here, if I need anything.”
“Jen--”
“Listen. I know you miss him. And you’ve been waiting a while to see him. I’ve kept you here long enough. I know you’d do the same for me.”
She was right, of course. I would in a heartbeat.
“I’m staying until the evening. Just to make sure.”
“Fine. But if you’re hear past seven, I’ll finally let Jan loose on you.”
I made a pantomime of being terrified--big and hammy and melodramatic.
Jen threw the crust of her toast at me.
*******
So if I were to swing by yours at 7, you’d be there, right?
Jen feelin better then?
She’s kicking me out into the world to fend for myself.
And my son. I’m on some real hunter gatherer type shit over here.
Gotta keep the birds of prey away from your baby
Exactly.
Are you at yours or mine?
Neither
Neither?
Where are you?
There were still a few days left on your hotel tab
So im here in this posh hot tub
Takin a soak
I’m sorry
Let me get this straight.
You’ve been in Brighton this whole time?!
Not this whole time
Just the last two days
Why didn’t you say anything?
Been enjoyin boilin myself in this hot tub havent i
7PM, Gabriel.
I’ll pick u up
Ta
**********
It was 6:30. Ben was down for the night--until he needed fed next, at nine. I was smoking on the patio, eating Dominos with Jen--she was craving it after days of nothing but water and broth--when Gabe texted me next.
CHRIST ELI
Were u plannin on tellin me u wrote me fucking porno
Or were u just gonna let me find out myself
Fuck
This is the hottest shit ive ever read
Damn near broke my zip im so hard
I can SEE the chair u were in
Shit i can just imagine u
Im goin for a drive
I’ll be at Jen’s at 7 like promised
But i need to clear my head before i fuck u tonight
I could come at the touch of a light breeze atm
I coughed, clearing my throat of pizza grease, wiping my hand on a paper napkin before checking Jen’s temperature with the back of my hand. She was blissfully, blessedly cool.
“Told you,” she grinned. “Don’t worry about us. Go see your boyfriend. I’m sure he misses you.”
Leaned across the gap between us, kissing her temple. “Love you, Jenny. See you tomorrow.”
“Maybe not,” she snorted, rolling her eyes as she said, “Jan invited Mum over.”
“See you day after tomorrow!” I amended cheerily, earning a laugh and a swat to the arm from Jen.
Inside, I quickly jammed the few clothes I brought with me in my rucksack. Carefully, so very carefully, I kissed Ben’s forehead as I passed the bassinet, tiptoeing to the front door and quietly shutting it behind me.
On the stoop, I texted Gabe back.
I’m standing on Jan’s stoop now. Come pick me up.
I only had to wait long enough to smoke a cigarette before he pulled up, stretching over the centre console to open the passenger door for me.
“Wotcher?” He asked once I shut the door behind me, his grin wide, his eyes wild.
“Drive,” I implored simply, my own grin widening as he peeled off toward the hotel. We were silent, anticipating finally being alone, together, again. The drive was only three minutes. We still didn’t manage to make it out of the car.
He reached over awkwardly, pulling the lever to push my seat back. When he clambered into my lap, straddling me, I silently thanked god he had the foresight to pull into the more deserted corner of the carpark.
Our mouths met before I could register either of us leaning in, our teeth clacking one before our mouths lined up properly. I unzipped his leather jacket as he fumbled with the buttons of mine. I found a flimsy cotton shirt beneath, my hands wrapping round his waist before sliding down, back toward his arse. I pulled him closer with my grip, groin to groin as he finally got my coat open, plunging his hands under the henley he bought me so many months ago.
Pulling back from the kiss, he panted a desperate breath, bringing his cool fingers to my nipples, circling around them at a leisurely pace that did not match the frantic movements of our hips grinding together. “Fuck,” he breathed, “we should be doin’ this in our room. I should be working my tongue up your arse instead of rutting against you like a horny teen.”
I buried my face in his neck, his hair, breathing him in. I brought a hand forward, fumbling blindly with his zip, the button of his jeans. “Can’t wait. Need you now. Waited long enough.”
He moaned, moving to open his jeans as I did the same, watching him take his cock out, slick as ice. He must have been hard since before he texted me. The smell of him made my mouth water. I wanted to push him back into his seat, bend myself in two to take him in my mouth. Instead, I spat into my palm and took us both in hand, watching his eyes flutter shut, baring his teeth as I started to stroke.
“Fuck, Eli,” he moaned, fingers digging into my shoulders where he was gripping me, “Yes, yes, yes.”
I brought my free hand up, cupping the back of his head, bringing our foreheads together, sharing breath, panting into each other’s mouths. I could feel him twitching against me--my palm, my cock--and my grip tightened in his hair.
“Marry me,” I groaned, “Marry me.”
Gabe’s hips jerked toward me, his thighs tensed on either side of my lap as he came with a near-shout. Watching him--how his eyes rolled back as his eyelids fluttered shut, his mouth swollen and slack, back bowed as he rode it out--pushed me over the edge, my eyes focused on the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, throat undoubtedly sore from panting.
I floundered in the shallows of my orgasm, head thrown back against the seat as I tried to get a hold of my own breathing. I felt Gabe snuggle into the crook of my neck, his breath spilling down the collar of my shirt. I slid my hand from his hair back down to his arse, giving him an affectionate squeeze.
“Sorry,” I breathed, “Didn’t mean to ask again so soon. I’m a knob.”
“You are,” he said softly, slightly muffled, “and I will.”
Things froze for a moment--the air surrounding us, my breath, the world around us, my heart--before I asked, “Pardon?”
“I will,” he said a bit clearer, sounding resolute, “I will marry you.”